In my second semester of nursing school, I gave birth to my third child. Holding her, admiring her simple perfection, I was mesmerized, completely consumed with her. On my second day in the hospital, I was hit with a choking thought: how could I continue with school? It seemed too soon to be thinking about that, but it was a realization I had to face.

When my daughter was 18 months old, my mother turned to me and asked what her name was.

I was taken aback, somehow most by the idea that a grandmother would ever ask such a question. It was one of many such incidents as Alzheimer’s slowly stole the mother I knew. As I saw the confidante I’d known so well slipping away, I was continually more surprised and upset by the loss of my relationship with my mother than her losing memories and facts. As my mother, how could she ask me these things, even if she couldn’t remember?

I remember…

I remember running down the long length of sands at Ogmore-by-Sea, the wind whipping my hair into my eyes and the blown sand already sticking to my skin. I ran badly; my sisters, though younger, ran well. To avoid being last in any race I stopped to observe the grey horizon and the patch of brightness behind the rolling clouds that showed somewhere the sun was shining.

You stood so proudly for the photograph
Your bearing testament to a dancer’s grace,
Head up you looked not at the camera, but beyond it,
Beyond us

My mother grew up in the 1950’s during a difficult time. Her mother had passed away at a young age, and being the 5th of 12 children, raised by her father and grandmother in Africa, my mother had to work twice as hard to get the bare necessities. Being of East Indian decent, my mother was not allowed the same freedoms as we have today, living in Canada. She had to fight for the right to education. She had to ask for things which we take for granted.

As an unexpected mom of a twenty two month old and another on the way, the mom I would love to meet today is my mom.

After a long second round of cancer my mom passed away. She was thirty seven and I was ten years old. Sure I skipped the teenage hell a mother and daughter can go through but I sure could use some advice these days.

She’s the mother who struggles day in and day out trying to find a balance. Balancing her life, her children’s lives, her family’s lives. Balancing it all without losing a fundamental part of herself.

LOVE being invited to playdates. HATE going empty handed. So, out of sheer pride we started baking - from scratch mind you - brownies - in 30C heat – on a sunny July afternoon - for the playdate. Why not bring fruit?...you ask. Yes, of course we will bring fruit - but silly me thought a treat of brownies would be fun too. Could have gone to the store you say. Yes. Again, there's that pride of mine.